


Skipping Beats, Blushing Cheeks

by Thursday_Next



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-05
Updated: 2012-12-05
Packaged: 2017-11-20 09:23:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/583789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thursday_Next/pseuds/Thursday_Next
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin works at the old, rundown bookshop that Arthur bikes past daily on his way to work. Normally Arthur doesn’t spare a second glance at it, but when a winter storm rolls in unexpectedly, he ducks inside and meets Merlin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skipping Beats, Blushing Cheeks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seths_dream](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seths_dream/gifts).



> Happy merlin holidays [seths_dream](http://archiveofourown.org/users/seths_dream/pseuds/seths_dream)! Big thanks to my beta, castmeaway. Title is from the song _Goodnight and Go_ by Imogen Heap. 
> 
> **Warnings:** Contains sexual content including rimming, brief mention of past minor (canon) character death.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** The characters depicted herein belong to Shine and BBC. I make no profit from this endeavor.

Arthur blinked the icy water out of his eyes. He was beginning to seriously regret his decision to cycle back from work. He'd taken up cycling with good intentions of keeping fit and having an environmental conscience. But now that he was drenched through and losing the feeling in his nose and fingers, he couldn't help wishing he'd just taken the sodding car.

"Sod this," he muttered to himself, teeth chattering. Arthur pulled over and dismounted, unclipping his helmet with fumbling fingers. There was a tea room down here on the corner somewhere, he was sure he'd passed it on the way home before.

 _Open 9-4_ read the sign on the tea room door, mocking him in pastel chalk.

The rain seemed to thicken into sleet as Arthur cast his eyes along the narrow street. He preferred this route for cycling -- less traffic, fewer nasty junctions -- but now he couldn't help but wish he'd gone on the main road past Starbucks after all.

Next door to the tea room there was a funeral parlour, two doors along from that, an estate agents' office, and beyond that what seemed to be a small book shop. Arthur decided the book shop seemed his best bet. It would be easier to pretend to be interested in buying a book, than a house or a coffin, after all, and less chance of being asked for his personal details, which he never liked to give out if he could help it.

He glanced briefly at the display in the window. Much to Arthur's irritation, many shops had already begun putting up tinsel and trees and snowmen, even with Christmas six weeks away or more. Thinking to trick shoppers into believing they had less time to shop for presents than they thought, perhaps. This shop was different, though, not a robin or Santa hat in sight, just an impressively rendered icy landscape with a stack of fantasy novels and a large cardboard sign saying 'Winter is Coming'.

"No shit," Arthur muttered under his breath as he secured his bike against the lamppost outside.

Inside, the shop was small and cramped, musty with the smell of old books, and mercifully warm. It was empty, but the sound of the bell had doubtless already alerted some old white-haired shopkeeper to Arthur's presence. Arthur rubbed his hands together to warm them, and peered dolefully at the weather outside which showed no signs of letting up. He wondered how long he could get away with sheltering in here – or how long he could stick it out before the inevitable social embarrassment became overwhelming. If only the cafe had been open, he could have made a cup of coffee last half an hour or more, while he looked resolutely at his iphone. He wasn't sure how long he could convincingly pretend to look at books.

 _“The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel, must be intolerably stupid.” ― Jane Austen_ read the sign above the section marked 'Classics'.

Arthur sighed as he browsed along the rows, stacked from floor to ceiling. He tried to make sense of the somewhat unorthodox filing system, wondering how a shop like this even managed to stay open in this day and age – didn't everyone have kindles nowadays? 

"Oh," said a surprised, slightly breathless voice behind him. Arthur turned around to see a slim, dark-haired man of about his own age standing beside the counter, looking at him with an indecipherable expression. The man broke eye contact and looked down, a slight guilty flush staining his cheeks. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice deep and sonorous with the slight lilt of an accent, "I was just out the back. I wasn't expecting anyone else this afternoon. Is there anything I can help you with? Something in particular you were looking for?"

This was exactly why Arthur hated small shops like this, why he preferred to buy his books at Waterstones – or even better, Amazon – to do away with any of the uncomfortable personal interaction. He always stayed in large, anonymous hotels any time he was away from home for similar reasons, and frequented a barber who knew well enough by now that questions about his plans for the weekend were unwelcome.

"No, I'm just browsing, thanks," Arthur replied, politely but firmly enough to deter even the most persistent of sales people. It was a tone he'd cultivated quite carefully over the years.

"All right," the man said cheerily. "Bloody awful weather, isn't it? It's like Narnia."

Arthur looked at him then, more surprised that he was still talking than at his actual words, although he couldn't quite fathom how he'd made the leap from the November sleet to a magical land with talking lions. There was a slightly awkward pause and then the shop assistant continued, "You know, always winter, never Christmas."

The dismissive, non-committal 'hmm' Arthur had fully intended to respond with, got lost somewhere in his throat as he realised that yes, that was exactly what it felt like, that was exactly why November was his least favourite month, and he smiled.

"You don't have a magic closet that leads to somewhere warmer, by any chance?" he found himself saying, even though it broke all of his personal rules about not engaging with sales people.

"'Fraid not," said the man with a warm smile that was doing its level best to brighten up the winter chill. "I'm well out of the closet, me," he added with a shrug. Something of surprise must have shown on Arthur's face, because the man winced and took a step backward. "Well, if you need me, um, need any help, I'll just be over here. By the counter. My name's Merlin, by the way. Just in case you needed. Um. Anything."

Arthur turned back to the books, and willed the prickly, heated sensation in his face to die down, for the echo of the word _anything_ to fade from his mind. Good grief, the man - _Merlin_ \- had only been talking about himself, it wasn't like he'd meant anything about Arthur, he could handle this, he could. A quick glance outside showed that the weather showed no signs of calming down. Arthur debated the merits of taking his chances on the bike versus admitting defeat and calling a taxi, or staying in the book shop and waiting it out. Really, there was no contest. He selected a book from the shelf at random and began to flick through it, not really reading it.

"That's a good one," Merlin said, appearing as if from nowhere. "Seminal work."

"It's a comic book," Arthur replied sceptically. Merlin raised an eyebrow, as if to say, _well you're the one who picked it off the shelf_.

"If you're hoping for dirty pictures, you'll be disappointed."

Arthur shut the book with an audible snap.

"I am _not_..."

"I can recommend some other things if you're really interested in lesbian literature," Merlin pressed on, the barest hint of a tease in his voice. Arthur glanced down at the title of the book, and then up at the laminated sign on the shelf which read _LGBTQ Literature_ , the 'Q' clearly handwritten in after the fact. He rapidly re-evaluated the pros and cons of staying here versus getting back on his bike. Really, there was no way that dropping the book and making a run for it now wouldn't make him look like a dirty old man, and the truth that he hadn't even been looking at the book because he'd been so flustered about Merlin's earlier comments, by Merlin's very presence, would make him look like a complete loser. So he lied.

"I'm looking for a present for my sister."

"Early Christmas shopping, eh?" Merlin smiled at him and Arthur felt his palms itch.

"Her birthday, actually," Arthur said. This wasn't true, either, Morgana's birthday had been in September and he'd bought her a gift card for Selfridges.

"Ah, well. I can recommend some other books she might like if you want." Merlin reached across him to take a book from the second shelf, and his arm brushed Arthur's chest. Even through the layers of clothing Arthur could practically feel the heat radiating from his body, and he gave an involuntary shudder. "Oh," said Merlin, blinking at him, "you must be freezing, still.” He rocked back on his heels and bit his lip, a slight frown creasing his forehead. “Look,” he continued, all in a rush, “Gaius would probably kill me, any number of health and safety violations, but the kettle's not long boiled in the back room. I'll get you a cup of tea."

"No, really, that's not -" Arthur protested.

"Honestly, it won't take a second! Just don't steal anything."

Merlin thrust the second book into Arthur's hands, gave him a wink and disappeared through a door behind the counter like magic, before Arthur could insist.

Arthur looked down at the book, saw the word 'vagina' and blanched. He looked along the shelf for the right place to return it, but the shop's approach to alphabetical order was haphazard at best, and Arthur couldn't quite get his head around the shelving criteria. Considering the current disarray, he wondered whether Merlin would even notice if he put it in the wrong place and stuffed it in the next space he could find. He was about to put the first book back alongside it, when something on the shelf caught his eye.

Glancing around first to make sure he was still alone, he pulled it out for a closer look. The cover showed a man, naked from the waist up, leaning against a tree with a wistful expression on his face. It was hardly explicit, but Arthur felt his pulse speed up. There was no harm in just looking at a book, he reminded himself. Hell, he could even buy it and take it home if he liked, nobody would judge him, nobody would even know. Merlin certainly wouldn't bat an eyelid, he probably sold books like this to people like – to people, all the time.

"Here you go," a cheery voice said from behind him, and Arthur fumbled, dropping both the book he'd been looking at and the comic book he still hadn't gotten around to putting back.

"Shit, sorry, I'm sorry!" Arthur bent to pick the books up, and Merlin dashed across the shop floor to help. Their hands brushed as they both reached for the book at the same time, and Arthur pulled his hand away as if burnt.

"Don't worry about it, no harm done. If I had a quid for every time I dropped a book, well, let's just say there's a reason I don't work in a china shop."

Arthur almost, almost resented Merlin for being so bloody _nice_. He hated when people were nice. It made him feel like even more of a dick.

"I really am sorry," he found himself saying again, and where had that come from? Arthur usually managed to get through the week by scowling at people until they apologised to him, whoever was at fault. It was just one of the things he'd learned from his father.

"Why don't I take these over to the till for you while you have your tea?"

Arthur nodded, although he hadn't actually made up his mind to buy either. Perhaps this was some new kind of sales technique, to steamroll the customer with genuine niceness and kindness while simultaneously embarrassing them into buying books they didn't need. He followed Merlin a little helplessly to the counter, glancing up at the sign above the till that read _“When I have a little money, I buy books; and if I have any left, I buy food and clothes.” ― Desiderius Erasmus Roterodamus_. 

Merlin set down the books and pushed the mug towards him with another blinding smile. Arthur, disarmed, gulped it down, nearly scalding his mouth in the process.

"Lovely cup of tea," he found himself saying, "Maybe you could come into my office and show my assistant how to do it, she's hopeless."

"I couldn't possibly give away my secrets. I thought about opening up a cafe in the corner, so people could have tea and coffee while they browsed the books, but I wouldn't want to put Percy out of business – he runs the tea room down the street. Makes the most amazing cupcakes. You should pop in and try one, some time. Tell him I sent you, he'll give you a discount."

"I, um, maybe. Some time," Arthur said, knowing that if he ever went in to the cafe there was no way he was going to strike up a conversation with the owner or call in a favour for a discount. Arthur simply didn't get into conversations with people he didn't know. Except today, obviously. Today was an exception. _Merlin_ was an exception. Arthur finished his tea, unable to ratinalise the way he lingered over the dregs except for an excuse not to go back out in the cold, even though the rain looked like it was easing off, a little. 

"Oh, this book's lovely," Merlin said, beaming at him as he scanned the book through the till. "I was really hoping someone would buy it. It's always nice when a good book goes to a good home."

There was something so genuine and personal in his enthusiasm; nothing like the way the assistants at the shops Arthur usually frequented said, "Excellent choice, sir." Arthur almost felt guilty about his plans to throw both books in the back of his closet as soon as he got home.

"If you're at all interested," Merlin continued, looking up at him with an expression that was almost coy, "we've got a poetry reading here in the shop Wednesday next, late opening. I'll give you a flyer. It would be great to see you there." He really did look as though he'd be pleased to see Arthur there, too.

"Thank you," said Arthur, a little croakily.

"I might even persuade Percy to provide refreshments." Their fingers brushed again as Merlin handed Arthur the bag, and this time Arthur didn't pull away instantly, this time he let himself wonder what it would be like if he was the sort of person who was just a little bit braver.

 

It took Morgana nearly five minutes to stop laughing when Arthur gave her the book. Her bearded (and very much male) fiance, Leon, looked on with bemusement, as though he was seriously reconsidering having anything to do with their family at all.

"Was she cute?" she asked, when she had finally gotten her breath back.

"Who?" Arthur frowned at her.

"The shop girl. You must have really wanted to impress her, inventing a fictitious birthday for your fake lesbian sister. Honestly, Arthur, this is worse than the time you told Gwen you'd cook for her and she found the takeaway boxes in the kitchen. Or with Vivian when you -- "

"Yes, alright," Arthur grumbled, "I don't have the best track record with women, I think everyone here is already well aware of that, thank you."

"So what was she, blonde, brunette?"

"Oh for goodness sakes, Morgana, there was no girl, ok? I only went in the bloody shop to get out of the rain and I just picked it off the shelf at random."

"Yes, but that doesn't explain why you felt obliged to buy it. Or to tell the shop assistant it was for me."

"Look, I was just – he just – I was surprised into it, ok?"

"He? Oh, I see."

"No you don't," Arthur said sullenly, trying to snatch the book back, all too afraid that she really did see, better than he would have liked. "I'll return the book, tell him you already had it."

"No you won't," she said, clutching on to it. "It looks a good read. And it is my fake birthday, after all." A flutter of paper dropped onto the table.

Arthur groused as he gave up and settled back in his chair. Morgana picked up the paper -- _the receipt_ he realised with a pang of panic -- and looked at it, her expression unreadable.

He had, of course, hidden the other book before giving her the bag. The irony of hiding it in a wardrobe or closet of any kind was not lost on him, and so it had gone in one of his less often used kitchen drawers. He still hadn't really looked through it. But when he had needed the garlic press the evening before, he had found the man on the cover of the book staring up at him. It felt a bit like when he was in a newsagents, looking at the cover of Attitude before chickening out and buying The Economist instead, and telling himself that was what he'd gone in for in the first place. Except that he had bought this, somehow without really meaning to. He'd grabbed the garlic press and slammed the drawer shut.

Morgana didn't say anything about the receipt, her attention caught by another piece of paper in the bag.

"Poetry reading?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.

"It's just a flyer," Arthur said dismissively.

"I wouldn't have had you pegged as a poetry fan, Arthur," Leon said.

"Do I look like a lovesick girl?"

"You should go," Morgana said. "Maybe we should all go."

Arthur felt the beginnings of a headache at the mere idea of Morgana in the little bookshop, circling goofy, innocent Merlin with her shark-like tendencies.

"Maybe you should sod off," Arthur said, "you're not going." He reached across and crumpled the flyer up and pretended not to notice that he'd said _you're not_ rather than _we're not_ or _I'm not_.

The conversation turned to other things, their respective jobs, City's chances in the Champions League, the irritation of early Christmas adverts, Arthur's flat renovations, Morgana and Leon's wedding plans, a dinner party Morgana and Leon had given recently and how well Mithian had gotten on with the man they'd set her up with. Arthur had steadfastly avoided going to any of their dinner parties since the time they'd tried to set _him_ up with Mithian. 

Morgana walked him to the door when it was time for him to leave.

"Arthur, look, I'm going to be blunt."

"When are you ever anything but?" Arthur said, not meeting her eyes.

"When was the last time you went out with anyone besides me and Leon?"

"Um..." It had probably been his disastrous date with Mithian. Ever since he and Gwen had split up, things had gone to hell, just a little bit.

"That's what I thought." She shoved something into his hand. "I think you should think about it."

When he stepped outside, Arthur looked down at the piece of paper in his hand. It was the crumpled poetry reading flyer.

 

Arthur had never really thought of himself as lonely. So his life wasn't exactly an episode of _Friends_ , but whose was, really? He had Morgana and Leon, Lancelot, whenever he was back in the country. He'd found out, after he and Gwen had split, that a lot of _their_ friends had really been _her_ friends. And afterwards – well, it was hard to make friends when you didn't know who you were anymore, let alone anything more When he thought about it, though, sometimes he went through entire weeks without talking to anyone for more than a few minutes a day.

 

Monday was gym night. He went every week without fail, half an hour on the rowing machine, half an hour on the weights, to balance out the exercise he got cycling to work and back. There were a few people there he knew by sight, nodded to in the changing rooms. Nobody he spoke to, of course, but who wanted to speak when they were all sweaty and half dressed, anyway? As always, he slunk out as quickly as possible, cycled home to work off the extra undefined frustration he always felt, and had a long cold shower.

Arthur had almost forgotten about the book in the drawer. Or so he told himself whenever he remembered it, which was no more than once every couple of hours and a good deal less often than he thought about the man who'd sold it to him. Which was another thing he was not currently acknowledging. He opened the drawer and took it out. He'd paid for it, after all, why not?

The man on the cover didn't look much like Merlin from the book shop, although he had dark hair just the same. Merlin was thinner, taller, the slope of his jaw entirely different. But it wasn't a huge feat of imagination to picture Merlin in a similar position, shirtless, his hair sleep rumpled and eyes heavy lidded, lips quirked into that maddening smile. Arthur took a deep breath and put the book down on the coffee table along with _The Hedonist's Guide to Barcelona_ and _The Ultimate Soup Cookbook_. He decided to have an early night.

 

Arthur continued to tell himself he had no intention of going to the poetry reading right up until he found himself with his hand curled around the door of the book shop on Wednesday night. Inside, there was a microphone set up at the back, past the counter, and six or seven people standing around. Arthur felt a familiar awkwardness creeping over him as one of them smiled at him and he smiled back, hoping he didn't look too much like a demented loner. Should he try to talk to people? What if they asked him about poetry and he exposed himself as a fraud? 

It was stupid to have let himself be provoked into coming here. Bloody Morgana with her interfering and her insinuations; bloody Merlin and his smiles and his cups of tea. Merlin had only been doing his job when he'd invited him, he wouldn't remember him at all. If he was even there, surely there was more than one employee, even in a small independent shop, he might not even --

He was there. Taller than Arthur had remembered, but with the same smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle up (and the corners of Arthur's heart do something similar, not that he was going to admit to that).

"You came!" Merlin sounded genuinely delighted. 

"I, um, yes," Arthur said eloquently.

"Did your sister like the book?"

"She did, yes."

"Arthur, wasn't it?" Merlin asked. Arthur tried to remember whether he had told Merlin his name. "I sneaked a look at your credit card," Merlin confessed in a low voice. "You don't mind?"

"Of course not. It's um, only fair."

"Exactly!" Merlin grinned. "Now, Percy's here with some of those cakes I was telling you about, you must come and have one." He tugged at Arthur's arm, steering him through the growing crowd and Arthur found he didn't mind the lack of personal space at all.

Percy's cakes were, as promised, delicious. Percy himself was pleasant and diffident, a giant of a man who didn't look at all like the sort of person who decorated delicate cakes for a living. Merlin touched Percy frequently on the arm, and Arthur began to wonder whether Merlin and Percy were a couple. He was surprised by the sourness of his own reaction to that idea; as though he was having something snatched away from him, even if it was only the possibility of something he hadn't even made up his mind that he was allowed to want.

It soon became apparent, though, that Percy had a boyfriend by the name of Gwaine, and that Merlin was simply quite tactile with everyone. This discovery didn't make the sourness go away.

The poetry ranged from the surprisingly pleasant to the mildly humorous to the utterly impenetrable. Merlin stayed by Arthur's side the entire time, except when he was introducing the readers. Arthur found his eyes drifting closed during one particularly florid poetical offering, only for Merlin's elbow to jab sharply into his ribs. He looked up to see Merlin arching his eyebrows, trying to be disapproving, but biting his lips at the same time as if to keep from laughing. Arthur swallowed down the chuckle that threatened to rise in his own throat, and contented himself with sharing a conspiratorial grin.

 

Arthur found himself staying, after, to help Merlin move the stacks of unsold poetry books into the back room; lingering on, unwilling to face the chill of the winter night. They chatted about poetry, Arthur confessing his general ignorance, which Merlin laughed off, not seeming to mind in the least.

"Well, Arthur," Merlin said at last, leaning against the door frame as Arthur reluctantly pulled on his scarf and gloves. "It really was lovely to see you." His voice was soft and lilting.

 _You're lovely_ , Arthur wanted to say, and surprised himself; it wasn't anything he had found himself wanting to say to anyone before. 

"We should, we could. Um. Coffee? Some time?"

Arthur really didn't know why he suddenly become so tongue-tied when it came to asking someone out. He'd delivered countless presentations and team talks without stumbling over so much as a syllable. The whole business of friendship, though, of really liking someone – well, that wasn't like business at all. It mattered.

"Well we've had tea already," Merlin said, teasing a little, “Coffee would be the next logical step, obviously. Here, let me give you my number." He took Arthur's phone and programmed the number in. It might have been no more than wishful thinking, but he could have sworn Merlin's eyes lingered on his lips as he passed the phone back. 

Arthur rode home in something of a daze, unable to shake the image of Merlin in the shop doorway, framed by the falling snow.

 

Arthur stared at Merlin's number in his phone, and his fingers hovered over the call button at least sixteen times over the next three days. He'd been so elated with his own bravery and Merlin's easy acceptance, but it all seemed so much less clear now. In the end he took the easy way out and sent a text, only agonising slightly over the wording. Merlin replied almost immediately, all lower case and accompanied by both a smiley and an 'x'. Arthur told himself not to read too much into it.

 

Arthur tried to ignore the way seeing Merlin in the cafe made him feel warm all over. He ordered at the counter and slid into the chair opposite.

"Hi."

"Hey." Merlin smiled, and Arthur felt the warmth spread. It was strange, to feel so ridiculously comfortable with someone, especially someone he'd met only twice before, and at the same time to feel ever so slightly on edge; aware, anticipating something as yet undefined.

"So, sell many books today?"

"Today was my day off, so no, none at all. I got to stay in bed all morning reading." _In bed. Jesus._

"What were you reading?" Arthur asked, mouth a little dry as he tried not to picture the scene too vividly. He was glad it hadn't come out as _what were you wearing?_.

"Harry Potter," Merlin said, looking a little bashful. "It's my comfort reading, don't judge me.”

"Fancy yourself as a wizard, do you?"

"Well, with a name like mine," Merlin spread his hands in a 'what are you going to do?' gesture. "I just love fantasy. There's just something brilliant about being taken away from the grey world you live in and transported to somewhere else. It's so easy to get swept up in the – well, for want of a better word – the _magic_ of it all. Especially when it's pissing it down outside." 

Arthur hadn't read a fantasy book since he was a kid, despite his fond memories of Narnia and Middle Earth, but the enthusiasm in Merlin's words and gestures was inspiring. “Besides,” Merlin went on, “'A children's story that can only be enjoyed by children is not a good children's story in the slightest.' C. S. Lewis,” he added, “in case you were wondering.”

"I suppose selling books is sort of a passion for you, then?"

"Of course! Isn't what you do a passion?"

"I wouldn't say that, exactly," Arthur picked up his cup and swirled it around, looking down at the spiral of milk until it disappeared into the coffee. "I'm good at what I do, though."

"Which is..."

"Chartered accountant. I know, I know. No magic there."

"I have a friend who's a mathematician. He says maths is the closest thing to magic we've got. Why do you think people get called 'maths wizards'?"

Arthur laughed.

"I suppose that's true."

"I guess I just believe in doing what you love, going after what you want," Merlin said. His eyes met Arthur's for a second and Arthur felt his throat close up. Then Merlin's eyes lowered and he found himself snorting.

"That is such a cliche. What about all the people who work in supermarkets? Do they do it because they have a passion for tinned fruit and processed cheese? No, they do it because they need to feed their families, pay for the roof over their heads. You can't live on passion alone."

But he'd give it a damn good try, Arthur thought, fixated on the pale expanse of Merlin's neck.

"True, true," Merlin said. "But let me tell you, I am not above compromising my ideals to earn a crust, either. Last week alone I sold six copies of _50 Shades of Grey_. Six! I didn't even try to get them to buy something more worthwhile."

"Surely those six people were looking for escapism, just like you?"

"Well if they were looking for _that_ sort of escapism, I could have given them the address of a club in town where it's done properly," Merlin said, shaking his head. Arthur stared, not sure if he was joking or not. From the sudden pinkness spreading over Merlin's cheeks, he guessed not. And wow, he'd had Merlin pegged as an innocent bookshop geek, but he was rapidly beginning to revise that assessment. He felt his own face flushing in reponse, just imagining Merlin standing over him, whip in hand, as Merlin babbled, "Um, not that I... well, you know. Not often. Anyway, er, how's your sister?"

"She's fine. Gloating, because I actually followed her advice, for once."

"Oh?"

"The poetry reading," Arthur confessed. "I wasn't going to go. I may have... overstated my interest in poetry. She thought it would be good for me to go out, meet new... friends."

"Friends," Merlin echoed, curiously flat. "Right. Of course."

"It's just," Arthur carried on, all in a rush, "Ever since Gwen and I split up, I haven't been... all that sociable. Sorry, shit, sorry. I wasn't going to bring her up."

"It's ok," Merlin said, but his voice sounded a little tight. "Bad break up?"

"Yes. Look, can we talk about something else? Please?"

"Of course," Merlin said smoothly. "Movies?"

"Sports?" Arthur countered. Merlin pulled a face.

"Music, then."

Arthur's coffee was cold by the time they discovered that they liked precious few of the same bands,but it made it more fun, in a way, when they found something they both enjoyed. Despite the occasional awkward moment, and Arthur still kicking himself for having mentioned Gwen, he continued to be amazed at just how _easy_ it was to talk to Merlin, as though they'd known each other for years already. At how impossibly wonderful it was that Merlin had cut through all of Arthur's carefully cultivated uptight self-preservation already, with no more than a few smiles.

"Another?" Merlin nodded to Arthur's half finished cup.

"Please." He went to hand Merlin the cup, and just as Merlin reached to take it from him, their fingers brushed. Arthur felt a sharp curl of want unfurl low in his stomach, but Merlin's hand didn't linger. Instead he coughed awkwardly as he did pulled away, and the feeling was replaced with a dull, confused ache. Arthur began to wonder whether he had misinterpreted Merlin's interest in him after all. Maybe he'd confused friendship with something more. Maybe he'd just imprinted on the first gay man to look twice in his direction.

But Merlin didn't seem in any hurry to leave, either. They got through three cups of coffee and two slices of chocolate cake, before reluctantly agreeing they both had other things they needed to do. Arthur scraped his chair back slowly, lingering as much as possible as he pulled on his coat. He'd never connected with someone like this on a first date, ever. The couple of dates he'd been on post-Gwen had been utter failures, and what he'd had with Gwen hadn't exactly been love at first sight. 

 

They lingered outside on the pavement, despite the chill in the air. Merlin pulled a small tube of chapstick from his pocket and slicked his lips before pursing them together. 

“Cold gives me chapped lips,” Merlin said apologetically. 

Arthur couldn't help but stare at his mouth. He wanted to kiss him. God, he wanted to. Maybe Merlin wanted to kiss him, too, maybe that was why he'd been so bothered about chapped lips. But he'd withdrawn from Arthur in the cafe and Arthur couldn't work out why. While he dithered, Merlin wrapped his scarf tighter around his neck and gave him a rueful half smile.

“Call me,” he said, and then he was gone.

 

"I don't really know what I did wrong," Arthur mused over a glass of wine, later that evening, on the phone to Morgana.

"So... what, you spent the whole afternoon together, you got on really well and she just... left?"

"'Call me'," Arthur repeated, not bothering to correct Morgana on her pronouns. "That means don't call me, right?" He began to wish he'd paid more attention when Gwen had watched _Sex and the City_ instead of watching football in the bedroom. Although maybe if there had been more sex and less Man City, they wouldn't have broken up.

"No, Arthur, that would be a perverse abuse of the English language. And if this... person isn't being honest with you, then they're probably not worth it. You said you met at the poetry reading?"

"Fuck, you know, don't you?"

"Know what?" Her tone was innocent, which was always a giveaway; Morgana was anything but.

"About me. About. I had a date with Merlin from the book shop. At least, I think it was a date. With Merlin. Who's a man."

"Ah," Morgana said. And then, "Is this why you and Gwen broke up?"

"Shit, I don't know. Sort of. Maybe. Not only... look, I still fancy women, yeah, I just..."

"It's ok, Arthur."

"I know. I know it is."

Neither of them mentioned their father. They didn't need to.

 

Gwen had broken up with Arthur a month after the death of his father. At first he'd been at a loss to understand it. Uther had never approved of Gwen and if anything, Arthur had expected to move their relationship forward once he was gone, had even started looking at rings. But Gwen had thought otherwise and although she'd been nothing but supportive and comforting in his time of grief, she'd soon made it clear to Arthur that it was time for both of them to move on.

After that, Arthur had begun to consider other possibilities. He'd bought a new flat, one which he was still fixing up. He'd bought his bike. He'd gone to Morgana and Leon's dinner parties and let them set him up on exactly two dates. He'd joined a gym. He'd looked at magazines in shops, looked at men in the gym, had thought about it and thought about it until the voice in his head that said it was ok to be like this, ok to want, was louder than one which sounded like his father which said that it wasn't.

 

Arthur didn't call Merlin and Merlin didn't call him, although they did start exchanging text messages about everything from the mundane to the ridiculous.

Arthur looked up from his desk, still chuckling over Merlin's latest text to see one of his colleagues looking at him as though he'd grown a second head. Look all you want, Arthur wanted to say, I've found someone who makes me laugh and it's the best thing ever.

 _Christmas display goes up today_ Merlin texted him. _Woe_

_Misplaced your Christmas spirit somewhere, have you?_

_It got crushed by the weight of the decoration box_ Merlin texted back. _Who knew tinsel could be so heavy?_

_I could come over and give you a hand if you like._

Arthur checked it twice, decided it sounded nonchalant enough, then hit send before he could think better of it.

 _if you like_ came the reply. It wasn't exactly _come right over, I've missed you_ but it wasn't a _no, I don't want to be in your presence_ either.

Arthur cleared his desk, got on his bike and headed over to the shop. As he rode past he could see that the book shop was the last shop to get its Christmas display up. Even the funeral home had a tasteful arrangement of holly in the window. He chained his bike outside and pushed open the door. Inside, Wham's _Last Christmas_ was blaring out from behind the counter, while Merlin stood perched precariously half way up a ladder in the middle of the shop floor, swaying his hips as he sang along to the music.

"And here I thought you didn't have any Christmas spirit," Arthur grinned.

"What?" Merlin span round and lost his balance. "Shit."

Arthur rushed forwards in an instant, steadying the ladder as Merlin clung on.

"Are you alright?" Arthur's heart was hammering, as much from his growing awareness of their relative positions, his arms bracketing Merlin's hips, as from fear that Merlin would fall and injure himself.

"Fine," Merlin said, a little breathless. "I'll just..." He bit his lip and Arthur jumped back, embarrassed. Merlin shimmied down the ladder and stood in front of Arthur, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Sorry," Arthur said, "I didn't mean to startle you."

"I didn't think you'd actually come," Merlin said.

"Well, you clearly need all the help you can get," Arthur said, because it was easier than saying _I've spent all week thinking about when I can see you again._ "You're only going to break your neck if left to your own devices." He busied himself with bending over and picking up an armful of decorations. "Now just tell me where you want me."

"Over... over there's good," Merlin said, something a little strained in his voice.

Between the two of them they had the shop decorated to a standard which Merlin assured him would meet Gaius's exacting specifications. Arthur had never met Gaius, but wondered aloud if the elderly man Merlin had described as being 'like an uncle' could really be that fearsome.

"You haven't seen him raise his eyebrow at you," Merlin said, shaking his head, "I will feel the full force of that eyebrow's disapproval if there's so much as a sprig of holly out of place." He leaned back against the nearest bookshelf, causing his t-shirt to ride up, exposing a sliver of pale skin and a smattering of dark hair. Arthur couldn't help but stare.

"Sounds terrifying," he said absently.

"I'm lucky, really. At least he doesn't make me take it all down on Christmas Eve and put Sale signs up. He pretty much gives me free reign with the window displays as well. I was thinking of doing a 'Crime and Punishment' theme for January, murder mysteries, true crime, prison dramas. "

"Sounds cheery," said Arthur.

"So, um, Percy's having this thing on Friday," Merlin said, "Christmas party, it's sort of a tradition, and I was wondering whether you... well, he always likes new people and, I thought you might want to come?"

"Oh," Arthur said, carefully, "I wouldn't want to impose or anything." Even as the words left his mouth he was kicking himself for not saying _yes yes yes_ to any opportunity to spend more time with Merlin. But the idea of tagging along without being welcome made him feel awkward.

"Don't be daft," Merlin said, "it's not the 19th Century, you don't need an engraved invitation. The more the merrier, and all that."

"Ok then," Arthur said, really not needing much more persuasion than that. "I guess I'll see you there?"

There was a beat before Merlin answered, and when he did, Arthur felt sure he heard a disappointment in his voice, but he couldn't fathom what had caused it – had Merlin not wanted him to accept, after all?

"Sure," Merlin said. "Let me write down the address."

 

Arthur had thought seeing Merlin in the bookshop was Merlin in his natural element, but now he was here in Percy's flat, he wasn't so sure. This wasn't at all like one of Morgana's dinner parties, the seating plan and wine list carefully planned. People came and went, bringing drinks and helping themselves to crisps. But it wasn't some kind of invasion, either, Merlin knew all these people, seemed to know them well, hugging and kissing them on the cheek in greeting. A man with rakishly long hair and the sort of stylishly scuffy stubble that Arthur could never pull off leaned in and wrapped Merlin in an entirely inappropriate embrace. Arthur watched with something a lot like jealousy curdling in his stomach. He himself had only managed staring a little helplessly into Merlin's eyes for several beats too long before clapping him awkwardly on the shoulder.

"Get off me, you great lump," Merlin said, laughing even as he swatted the man away. "Arthur, this is Gwaine, Percy's boyfriend and official cake taster. "

"Oh, those cakes," Gwaine said. "Never let it be said the way to a man's heart is not through his stomach. Well," he amended, "Luckily for Merlin, a lot of the time the way to a man's heart is through his cock, instead." He winked at Arthur, who choked on his drink. "Since cooking is not among one of his many talents."

"Shut up," Merlin said, with a sort of affectionate exasperation, punching Gwaine on the arm. Hard, if the small yelp Gwaine let out was anything to go by. "Gwaine, this is Arthur."

"Arthur, lovely to meet you. Wait, Arthur, as in bookshop Arthur?"

"Gwaine, come and give me a hand with something in the kitchen," Merlin said quickly, dragging him away before Arthur could ask what he meant.

Abandoned to his own devices, Arthur began to feel slightly uncomfortable. He'd never liked small talk. He hovered on the edge of the room, until he saw somebody waving him over. It was Percy. Relieved to see a familiar face, Arthur smiled and crossed the room. Percy introduced him to a couple of other people, and to his surprise, Arthur found the conversation flowed easily. Gwaine joined them, arm slipping easily around Percy's waist without comment.

Arthur was laughing along with the rest of the group at something Gwaine had said, when he looked over to see Merlin looking at them from the doorway, distracted from his conversation with a waifish girl in a red dress.

"He's crazy about you, you know." Arthur started and turned to see Gwaine casually necking back his beer. "Merlin, I mean," Gwaine clarified.

"He's – really?" Arthur looked over again but Merlin's attention had returned to the girl who'd been talking to him before.

"Oh yes," Gwaine's voice was low, meant for Arthur's ears only. "He came round to ours for dinner the day you came into his shop and he was all 'the most gorgeous man came into the shop today, Gwaine, he's so fit and so blonde and I wanted to eat him with a spoon'."

"A spoon?" Arthur echoed, unconvinced.

"Well, I may be paraphrasing just a little,but you get the general idea. And then when you turned up to his poetry thing, well. Poor boy's besotted."

Gwaine clapped him soundly on the shoulder as he turned his attention back to his boyfriend and their friends.

Arthur mumbled his excuses and began to push his way across the room towards Merlin. When he reached the doorway, however, Merlin was nowhere to be found. Arthur helped himself to a glass of red wine in the kitchen, reasoning that he couldn't have disappeared completely.

It was Merlin who found him, in the end.

"Arthur? Everything all right?"

"Fine," Arthur said quickly, "Everything's fine. Good, even. I hope."

"Arthur you're not making sense, how much of that have you had?" Merlin nodded at the bottle, frowning.

"Hardly any, honestly. I just..." Arthur put the glass down, deciding the need for a clear head outweighed the need for dutch courage. He was just going to have to find some regular courage from somewhere.

"What's up?"

There was something about Merlin that made Arthur feel like he could tell him anything, anything at all. It was crazy to feel like this, after having known him only a few short weeks, but if Gwaine was right and Merlin really was crazy about him too...

Arthur took a deep breath.

"I was just talking to Gwaine, and..."

"Never a good idea," Merlin cut in, hands twisting a little nervously, "I always assume everything he says is at least 75% bullshit."

There was a burst of laughter from the living room and Arthur very nearly chickened out, said _it's nothing, it doesn't matter_. He glanced over and saw Percy and Gwaine wrapped together under the mistletoe, kissing the living daylights out of one another to a chorus of wolf-whistles and at least one shouted 'get a room'. _I want that_ , he thought, a new determination taking hold of him. If there was even a chance that Merlin wanted this too, he had to try.

"He said you were crazy about me," Arthur blurted out. Merlin's face fell and he looked away.

"Look," he said, clearly embarrassed, "you shouldn't believe everything Gwaine says, I told you --"

He made as if to turn away, but Arthur shot out a hand and reeled him back in, fingers curled around the soft material of Merlin's jumper.

"Merlin, look, I'm – I'm crap at this, that's what I am -- but, well, I'm sort of crazy about you as well."

Merlin stilled. Arthur couldn't quite bring himself to look up and meet his eyes, staring instead at a suddenly very interesting fridge magnet.

"You've been driving me mad, you know," Arthur admitted. "And I know I'm not like you. I'm not passionate about things the way you are, I'm not some kind of social butterfly, I'm not _nice_ like you are. I'm pretty much still in the closet. But you... you make me want to be different. You make me bold in ways I didn't even know I could be and – shit, this is too much. I like you, that's what I'm trying to say. I think you're lovely and bloody gorgeous and --"

"Arthur, shut up."

Before he could even think, let alone open his mouth to speak, Arthur felt cool fingers on his jaw, tilting his face up. He felt giddy from the sudden proximity, the heat of Merlin's breath against his cheek, the scent of him. He lost all ability to think as Merlin's lips pressed lightly but firmly against his, Merlin's tongue slipping easily into his mouth as if it belonged there, warm and wanted.

Merlin pulled back, still firmly cupping his jaw and Arthur swallowed, reduced to a bundle of nerves. His face was still close enough to Arthur's that he could see the beginnings of five o clock shadow on his jawline.

"What do you think the chances are," he said, his voice a shaky rumble against Arthur's cheek, making him shiver, "of getting rid of all these people in say, the next five minutes?"

"While there's still food and alcohol here? I'd say slim to none," Arthur said, his voice none too steady either. "Also, this isn't even your flat."

"I really want to take you home with me," Merlin said.

"Please do," Arthur replied without hesitation.

Extricating themselves from the party, however, wasn't quite that straightforward. The waifish girl Merlin had been talking to earlier earnestly wanted his opinion on a literary question. Percy insisted they try his homemade Christmas cake (which was delicious, nutty and spicy with more than a hint of brandy). And Gwaine, despite his earlier role as matchmaker, affected to not have the slightest idea why they would both wish to leave such a wonderful party so soon while simultaneously peppering his conversation with the most outrageous innuendo.

"Which," Merlin explained, as they finally escaped to pull on their coats and scarves in the hallway, "was entirely uncharacteristic of him and certainly designed to embarrass me, since Gwaine never usually uses a double entendre when a single one will do."

It wasn't all bad, though, having to stay an extra hour. The people were nice, the conversation flowed and the atmosphere was one of genuine merriment. But best of all was the way that Merlin stayed glued to his side, his shoulder a warm pressure against Arthur's. Merlin's hand reached out between them, fingers brushing together, trailing up over the back of Arthur's hand in a way that was both comforting and reassuring, sparking shivers of delightful anticipation.

The cold hit them the second they stepped out into the night.

"We could go back inside and call a taxi," Merlin said doubtfully.

"We've only just managed to escape," Arthur reminded him.

"My flat's not far. We could just run for it."

There was a snowflake settling on Merlin's nose. Arthur felt overcome with the urge to kiss it off, then remembered that Merlin probably wouldn't object if he did.

"Um," said Merlin as he pulled back with what was probably a sheepish grin. "Yeah, let's not wait."

They began at a brisk walk, breaking into more of a run as the snowfall worsened, then slowing to an awkward skid as the ground became slippy with slush. At the first stumble, Merlin slipped his hand into Arthur's, and the pressure of it was warming, even through the layers of wool and leather.

Merlin pulled off one woolen glove with his teeth as they finally reached his front door, fumbling with the key. Arthur followed him inside and was unceremoniously pushed up against the wall and kissed. Merlin's lips on his were freezing, and his tongue in Arthur's mouth was a hot shock of contrast, sweet and spicy like Percy's Christmas cake .

"Fuck, sorry," Merlin said, pulling back. "Jesus, you're soaked through. Look," he said, "why don't you go have a hot shower while I make us some tea, yeah?"

Arthur wanted to protest, wanted to suggest they get right back to the kissing, but Merlin was right, his skin felt clammy, his trousers were wet and beginning to chafe and he could hardly feel his toes; a shower was probably for the best. Merlin showed him up to the bathroom. He looked remarkably appealing with his rain dark hair plastered to his forehead, and Arthur was half tempted to suggest that he join him in the shower, but Merlin shoved a towel into his arms, fluffy and warm, straight from the airing cupboard, and disappeared before he could open his mouth.

It was probably for the best, anyway, Arthur decided, Merlin's shower was barely big enough for one, let alone two. However close they might have wanted to get, it would hardly be the most comfortable place for... well, whatever they might want to do. Arthur tried not to think about it too much as he soaped himself down, not confident in his ability to last anyway. It had been a while, and never with another man.

Arthur finished rough drying his hair and looked askance at his snow-damp clothes, already making puddles on the floor. Maybe he wouldn't need clothes for what they were going to do next, but wandering around naked seemed a little presumptious, for all that. He wrapped the towel securely around his waist and opened the door.

Merlin had changed into grey sweats and a fitted white top, and he sat on the edge of the bed drying his hair. Two cups of tea sat steaming on the dresser _sans_ coasters, and Arthur winced, mentally just thinking about what Morgana would have to say to that. Stripped down to lounge wear, Merlin's chest and shoulders looked broader than Arthur had imagined them. His hair stuck up at odd angles from where he'd towelled it dry. Merlin looked up as Arthur stepped into the room and his eyes darkened. Arthur got the distinct feeling that if he could have done it with a look alone, Merlin would have made the towel drop. His cock twitched and he wondered whether Merlin could see.

"I, um, my clothes were all.." Arthur gestured in the direction of the bathroom.

"I, uh," Merlin's voice was husky, "yeah, I figured that. Hence the shower. You --" he cleared his throat. "You want to borrow something?" He got to his feet and crossed to the dresser. "You looked a little like the first time I saw you," he said, not meeting Arthur's eyes, "all wet and shivery."

Arthur shivered at his tone, feeling his skin break out into goosebumps.

"And you just wanted to warm me up, huh?" He aimed for teasing but somehow it sounded more like pleading.

"Fuck yeah," Merlin said. He slammed the drawer shut and crossed over to Arthur, clothes in his arms. Arthur didn't move to take them from him.

"Gwaine said you wanted to eat me with a spoon," Arthur said, cheeks flushing a little. Merlin's eyes met his, then, shining with naked want, and he felt as though the air had been sucked from his body.

"Would you mind very much," Merlin said thickly, "if there was no spoon involved?"

"I --" Arthur began, eyes wide, pulse racing, but Merlin's mouth on his cut off anything he might have said. The kiss was warm and exploratory, and Merlin's hands slipped first around his waist, then snaked down to cup his arse. The spare clothes dropped, forgotten, on the floor, and Arthur let out a soft involuntary groan.

"I very much want to take you to bed," Merlin said as he drew back from the kiss, arms still wound around him, fingers slipping underneath the towel to stroke Arthur's lower back. "Will you let me?"

"Yes," Arthur said, more of a soft exhale than an actual word. "Please do."

Merlin attacked his mouth again, pressing closer until his chest was against Arthur's, hardly room to breathe between them. His hands slipped down again, massaging Arthur's cheeks through the towel. Arthur was fully hard now, and he could feel through the soft material of Merlin's trousers that he was too, which was only more arousing. His hands twitched, and he wanted to touch, but settled for holding on to Merlin's hips, hooking his fingers underneath the waistband of his sweats and rubbing at the soft warm skin beneath.

"Arthur," Merlin practically growled, mouthing along his neck, "you have no idea all the things I want to do to you." He bit lightly at the place where Arthur's neck met his collarbone. "You and your gorgeous arse." He squeezed it again and Arthur jerked involuntarily. "What do you want, Arthur?"

Merlin's voice saying his name thrilled him in ways Arthur hadn't even imagined possible.

"I want," Arthur said, finding it wasn't so hard to articulate what he wanted after all, at least not now it was here within touching distance, "I want your hands on me. Your mouth. I want... I've never, never -- I want everything."

"That can be arranged," Merlin said breathlessly, one hand working its way up his chest to tweak at a nipple. "Might take more than one night, though."

"I certainly – ah – hope so," Arthur said, and Merlin hummed happily against his skin where he'd resumed kissing his neck.

"Tell me if it's too much, yeah?"

"I'm not some blushing virgin," Arthur protested.

"You sort of are," Merlin said, and Arthur knew his heated cheeks were giving him away. "I think it's hot. You're hot. Fuck, I want to run my tongue over inch of you."

"Why don't you stop talking and do it then," Arthur said, trying to keep his voice steady. His challenge was duly accepted, and he found himself face down on the bed and towel-less before he could blink, Merlin kneeling between his legs, kissing along the backs of his thighs, and working his way higher. Merlin's hands gripped his hips, hard enough to bruise, and Arthur recalled their conversation in the cafe about spanking. He hardly had time to think about whether that would be something he wanted (although initial responses suggested a favourable answer), before he felt warm breath and a wet tongue licking into him. He shuddered and gripped the sheets in his fists.

"Ok?" Merlin rasped.

"Nggh," Arthur choked out, meaning, _yes, bloody brilliant, more, please_

Merlin seemed to understand him regardless, returning to the task with unmistakeable enthusiasm, reducing Arthur to incoherent moans with each swipe and thrust of his tongue.

"Christ, knew you'd be like this if I could get you into bed," Merlin said, voice scratchy. "The sounds you make. You're so fucking desperate for it, aren't you?" Merlin slid one finger into him, making Arthur gasp. "More?"

Arthur nodded, not trusting himself to speak. As Merlin added another finger, and he bit his lip and let himself imagine Merlin's cock pushing into him, stretching him. He wanted it. But he'd never had more than his own fingers and wasn't sure that it wouldn't be too much too soon, after all.

Arthur whined as Merlin withdrew his fingers, left trembling on the edge.

"Please," he said, reduced to whimpering. "I want you to – want to --"

"Shh," Merlin said, and the fingers were back, burning and soothing all at once. Merlin had one hand laid flat against the base of his spine, and Arthur arched into his touch. "There's enough time for that. You'd never last. Just come for me, love, come on."

There was something about Merlin, about the way he spoke to him, supplicating and commanding at once that made Arthur want to give in without question. If Merlin had told him not to, to hold on, he would have done his best to obey, but he'd told him to come, and Arthur needed to, so badly, if only --

Merlin's hand slipped round to take hold of Arthur's straining cock, and it took only the first touch before Arthur was spilling onto the sheets with a hoarse cry, pleasure like a crashing wave blocking out everything else. He came back to himself, still rocking on his hands and knees with Merlin murmuring sweet, filthy nonsense next to him. Arthur collapsed bonelessly onto the bed, grimacing at the sticky mess he'd made of the sheets. Merlin climbed over him, straddling his hips, touching himself frantically. Arthur reached for him, wrapping his hand around Merlin's cock and closing Merlin's hand over his own.

"Show me," he said, "show me how you like it."

 

Afterwards, Merlin cleaned them both up and stripped and changed the sheets while Arthur, feeling a little useless, pulled on the dry clothes Merlin had found for him earlier. Merlin kissed him, sweet and sloppy, tasting of mint toothpaste, and swatted him lightly on the backside before dragging him back into bed.

"We never had that tea," Merlin murmured sleepily.

"I don't mind," Arthur said, a little sore, a little awestruck and a lot delighted.

 

He woke to the smell of coffee and the slight disorientation that comes of finding yourself in an unfamiliar bed; the prickle of stubble burn on his thighs a tangible reminder of the night before. Arthur sat up, sheets pooling in his lap, torn between embarrassment and arousal as he ran through it all again in his head.

“Morning,” Merlin said, from the doorway, bed-headed and gorgeous as he crossed the bedroom floor and passed Arthur one of the coffee cups.

“Thanks,” Arthur said, sipping it gratefully.

“I have to go into work,” Merlin said, sounding regretful, “but if you wanted to get coffee later...?”

“We've done coffee,” Arthur reminded him. “And tea. Which hot drink would be the next logical step, do you think?”

“I think after last night the next logical step would be to do away with hot drink metaphors and just admit we want to spend time with each other,” Merlin said. “Don't you?”

“Ah,” said Arthur, unable to hide his relieved smile, “Yes, I think that would be good.”

 

Arthur helped Merlin take down the decorations after Christmas and put up his crime-themed display. He was there for the 'Love in the Time of Cholera' display in February which featured paper hearts and romance novels surrounded by books on a whole variety of illnesses. When that display was taken down, Arthur brought Merlin to meet Morgana for the first time. Much to his surprise they got on like a house on fire. Arthur took Merlin as his guest to Morgana and Leon's wedding in the summer, and Merlin created a wedding-themed display with the heading, 'Reader, I Married Him', in honour of the event. October was Arthur's favourite, with an array of pumpkins carved by Percival to look like spooky literary characters peering out from behind the glass of the shop window.

When November rolled in once more and the pumpkins began to turn, Arthur was surprised to cycle up to the shop and see that the display had been changed, some of the icicles and fake snow familiar from the year before, but now with extra glitter and the words, “Always Winter and Never Christmas” in large font.

“You changed it without me,” he said as he walked into the shop.

“I know,” Merlin said, looking up from whatever he was reading with the smile that never failed to make Arthur's pulse quicken. “It was a surprise. So I can take you out tonight instead of us slaving away over the window display.” Then, lowering his voice as if someone might overhear, “I cheated and used last year's icicles.”

“Recycling. I'm impressed. ”

“Will you still be impressed if I use last year's chat up lines?” Merlin asked.

“You never had any lines,” Arthur scoffed. “Are we going out or would you and your book like to be alone?”

Merlin snapped the book shut and came out from behind the counter. 

“'There is no mistaking a real book when one meets it. It is like falling in love.'” he quoted.

“Is it really?” Arthur asked, dryly, wrapping his arms around Merlin's waist. 

“Mmm,” Merlin murmured. “But the book's not going to keep me warm at night, so I'll have to stick with you, won't I?” he said cheekily, before reeling Arthur in for a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> "There is no mistaking a real book when one meets it. It is like falling in love." - Christopher Morley


End file.
